All Hail the King, Baby!
by ChaosGamer
Summary: "At this point it is evident that you are reading my private journal... despite the hoard of protective spells and abhorrent curses cast upon these very stacks of parchments. Next time you see me, you better wish that I am more impressed than wrathful."
1. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 1

'Twas was the only trolley cart with the cookie crunch.

Where to begin? The spectacular wizardry shenanigans which will undoubtedly be praised by my descendants for generations have compelled me to write them down, to let them out in some sort of outlet. At least, that's what Hermione suggested to me. Could good writing be produced by me? That answer will hopefully reveal itself later on.

In West New Jersey born and raised- to say the least I have mixed feelings about that place. No need to go too much into it- 'tis not an auspicious beginning. There I was, destined to go into a normal school with normal children, until an old man with a grey beard showed up, intent upon changing my fate.

* * *

_A man, with a long beard with a green hat and robes strolled through the quiet paved roads in New Jersey. The weather had just begun to be cool and chilly with leaves turning red and yellow. The man attracted curious stares from fellow pedestrians far and few between. Granted, it seemed to others that this man was wearing flamboyant bathrobes for a midday walk._

_Stepping up to a building, the man raised his fist, softly pounding upon the door twice. Footsteps were heard on the other side; the door opened to reveal a young man._

_"Good Afternoon. I believe I have made an appointment with Mrs. Johnson, the matron in this orphanage."_

_The teen at first gaped at the man's clothing before responding. "Ah, I, uh, I see. I'll fetch her for you." turning back, he quickly stalked inside, eager to get away from the man standing before the door. After few moments an apron wearing woman appeared on the doorway._

_"Good Afternoon, Mrs. Johnson. My name is Albus Dumbledore. May I come in?"_

_"...Of course." Mrs. Johnson gave a fake smile after overcoming her shock. The man stepped into the hallway, with plain walls with pattered floor. The door closed behind them._

_"I have sent you a letter requesting an appointment to which you kindly responded and have invited me here today."_

_After few moments Mrs. Johnson remembered her schedule. "Yes, of course. Well - it'll be best to discuss inside the meeting room." _

_After shouting instructions to other helpers, Mrs. Johnson and Dumbledore stepped inside a room, with little decoration, a large table, and several stiff chairs. Mrs. Johnson sat down, eying Dumbledore apprehensively._

_"As I have stated within my letter I have come to discuss about Procyon Black and his future."_

_"How did you get to know about Procyon?" asked Mrs. Johnson._

_"His name has been down for our school since his birth."_

_"Are you directly related to him in any way?"_

_"No, I am not. I am a teacher. I have come to offer Procyon a place at my school."_

_"Well then, how was his name down for your school? Who registered for him? His parents?"_

_It seemed as though Dumbledore who have to answer each and every question Mrs. Johnson asked._

_"Here is a document that I hope will explain everything." Taking out a piece of folded paper Dumbledore took out his wand, tapped it once on the paper, and handed the document toward Mrs. Johnson. The effect was immediate – once her eyes fell on the sheet of paper, her eyes began to swivel around for a moment before refocusing. She placed the paper down._

_"The document seems to be in order." She stood up from her chair. "Come with me, please."_

_Walking out from the room, Mrs. Johnson led Dumbledore upstairs._

_"No one ever came to visit Procyon before." Mrs. Johnson explained as they walked. "You are the first one. He is very clever and a kind boy, but the orphanage roughened him up somewhat - but then again this type of life is hard to everyone. Here we are." Mrs. Johnson stopped in front of a door, in the hallway filled with numerous rooms. Twisting the knob she opened the door._

_"Procyon?" She called inside. "Someone is here to see you."_

_A young boy, age of eleven was inside the room, a book on his desk, and his face turned toward their direction. He merely raised his eyebrows at the clothing of the man._

_Mrs. Johnson walked away; Dumbledore stepped into the room, closing the door behind him._

* * *

August 10th, 1991.

How to describe him? How would you describe an old man wearing a bathrobe, wishing to visit you? At first, my impression of him was not favorable. Eccentric. Dangerous. Intelligent. Dangerous. Whimsical. Dangerous. Liar. Dangerous. Kind. Dangerous. Manipulative. Dangerous... did I mention danger?

A loud silence hung in the room as we both silently appraised each other, making calculations within our minds. Was I supposed to trust him? He had this sense of ridiculousness to him that reminded me of Willy Wonka.

Finally, he spoke.

"Hello, Procyon."

Inwardly, I cringed. What kind of name was that, anyway?

"Please, call me Jack." I outstretched my right hand toward him. A proper gentlemen was to be polite, or so I was taught. He accepted my handshake. From that brief moment of contact, I began to analyze it. Warm hands, psychologically making him more affable within my mind. Tough, wizened lines of long years etched onto the surface. Firm, proper handshake as expected from a British man, I assumed from the accent.

"You seem to dislike your name."

"Weird name." I replied. "I do wonder what was going through my mom's head when she gave me that name."

"Your mother?" he inquired.

"My mom. Everyone has a mom."

"I see." He cut to the chase. "My name is Dumbledore. I am a headmaster at a boarding institute, Jack. I am here to offer you a place within my school."

See, that was surprising. It was not like I had particularly high grades, nor was I someone who was considered to be a 'role model' to others.

"Really?" replied myself, a bit surprised. "But why me? Why not anyone else?"

"How do you know that I have only come for you?" he said.

"Obvious." I began my long line of reasoning. First impression was everything, and I needed to convince him of my capability. "If you were willing to offer a chance at your school to everyone within this orphanage, you would not bother coming in to see each and everyone here in this building, but speak with Mrs. Johnson to set up an advertisement instead. On an off chance that you do, however, a gossip about a man in a strange clothing going around offering a chance to escape this place would spread like wildfire. The chances of me being the first to be offered is relatively low, as my last name is neither first nor last on alphabet system in this school, my grade is not the number one in this orphanage, I am not the oldest in this orphanage nor the youngest, and my room is a bit far away from the front entrance. Therefore, you have only come for me, not everyone else."

Granted, it heavily relied on many fallible assumptions, but it seemed as though this time I had hit the mark. The Headmaster sat back, studying my words intently.

"You are right in assuming that I have come for only you. You see, you are a bit special."

I smiled. "I try not to assume. It leads to errors. I hope you mean special in a good way," I said, "-Headmaster." I quickly added.

"While you lived in this orphanage, you must have noticed things happening around you. Peculiar things."

"..."

"Something that cannot be described by logic. Can you remember any?"

It was clear; this old, flamboyant man held the key to my understanding of the things within the dark, the occult, the supernatural. Indeed, as he said, many weird things happened around myself, unable to be explained by my line of reasoning. I took the gamble of being frank with him.

"Well... There was one time where a kid's glasses exploded when he took one of my toys. And then there was one where I somehow found myself achieving twice my normal speed while couple of jerks were chasing me. Then there was one time my head split a bookshelf in half when it fell on top of me." I shrugged. "Yeah, weird stuff happened."

"They often happened while you were in high-stress situation, I hazard to guess?" the Headmaster asked.

"Hrm... Not really. They only happened when I wanted them to happen. It's kind of like I have a little control over them."

Cue more scrutiny. Then, he continued.

"The school I come from is for special people like you and I." he leaned closer to me. "School of Magic." He whispered.

...

Well.

Magic. How to describe it? A complete, new and separate set of laws that contradicts normal way of thinking. Its very existence shattered my previous view of the world, and replaced it, supplemented it, superseded it, like Newton's theories being partly accepted and rejected by Einstein's thinking.

It was certain.

I had to learn more. And, I needed to master it.

But first...

"...Alright, can you show me a spell, Headmaster?"

Ah yes, the burden of proof. It was now or never... if he refused me now, I wouldn't have believed him.

But, slowly he turned toward the clay figurines located upon my desk. Intricately designed little pieces, I poured countless amount of hours into them, giving them personality, shapes, and features. Taking out a piece of wood longer than a twelve-inch ruler, he merely waved it toward them.

One by one they all began to twitch, and move on their own accord.

"...Will I be able to do that?" I whispered, my head being filled with countless amount of ideas to the point where I was surprised that it didn't burst.

"If you attend Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." he explained. He waved his wand once more, and the figures ceased their movement, much to my disappointment. "To attend Hogwarts, proper materials are required. Textbooks, for example."

"Well, um, my pockets are empty at the moment, Headmaster." I sheepishly scratched my head.

He lightly smiled. "The family vault of the Black family should suffice."

"I have a family account in a bank?" and all those years I stood in front of that vending machine, wishing for cash. Was I dreaming?

"Gringotts, in Diagon Alley, London. There is enough money inside the vault to supply for the books and more."

"London... how would I reach there, Headmaster?"

Having thought for a minute, he replied. "There are two options. Taking a plane, or Apparating alongside with me."

"Apparate?"

"What you would call magical teleportation. However it is inadvisable if you experience motion sickness, or have a weak stomach."

"Nah, forget all that; teleportation is worth it." I was filled with too much excitement to care about the side effects of that particular mode of transportation.

"The school starts in three weeks. You should begin packing up now if you wish to leave by tomorrow." The Headmaster stood up. "If so, I will pick you up tomorrow."

"I'll begin packing up today, Headmaster."

"Good. I'll see you soon."

* * *

So ends the first day of my new life dyed with magic, I suppose. There are far more unmentioned stories before that day that I have not written down, but that's for some other time. It felt like being a protagonist in some sort of novel; in the midst of my less than fortunate upbringing, I was whisked away to new lands by a mysterious visitor. It was all so cliche.

The more I delved into the history of my family, the more I was intrigued. I was part of this long, deep rooted family of 'Purebloods' who practiced magic generation to generation for eons. Supposedly I received their blood for talent, and therefore, had the ability to do magic. Also, most other male bloodlines in my family died out, apparently, except for my uncle, who was in a wizarding prison for killing about a dozen people. Yeah... not a great start of reputation.  
And, consequently, I was bequeathed to a family home, disguised within the apartment of the muggles... later I found out that muggles built their apartment around my family home, unaware of its existence.  
So there I was, stuck within a dark, dusty, gloomy, and allergy inducing house of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, with only an elf to keep me company. Kreacher is a great guy, but not a fun guy. How to describe the home itself... ever read the House of Usher? It's exactly that. Minus the cracks. And the marsh. The Painting of my Grandmother hung around the entrance hall had favorable attitude toward myself, I'm happy to say.  
One thing I did notice was the gigantic family tree hung within the house. Described all family members within the bloodline- right up to myself, with picture for each member.

"...I look nothing like that. And who burned the portraits?"

"I did." I voice spoke up from the painting. "A hex spell for each and every one of our FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS, SCUM ON THE EARTH-"

But, I digress.

The copious amounts of dangerous objects within the household was bit of a trouble to deal with, but mostly I avoided trouble by staying within my own chamber. So passed my several weeks within my ancestral home. I am glad to write that I have made myself at home gracefully. The trip to Diagon Alley was nothing special, so I won't go too much into details. Instead, here are some notable events that took place.  
Instead of buying a Wizard Hat, I bought robes with hoods attached. A clear violation of the Supply List, but I was a rebel. Hats you needed to carry around, and your head became too hot when you wore them. Hoods held advantage in that particular case.  
Instead of Pewter Cauldron I bought Bronze Cauldron. I was rather hoping that they probably would not notice. I bought a Peregrine falcon instead of the usual limit of cat, toad, or an owl. I convinced myself that they would mistake it for a mutated owl. You should have seen the shopkeeper's face when I asked for this unprecedented choice.  
As for the wand, I had actually broken the usual wand core standard... a Kelpie Mane, Apple wand wood, Ten and a half inches. Now, as to actual competence of kelpie hair compared to other cores, I had yet to see. My wand, I knew, was destined to be a wand of greatness.

All in all, I trampled over the written rules.

Dusty copies of tomes buried deep within my home had their own charms and niches. Some described grotesque experimental spells, some made note of the top forbidden foul creatures known to the wizardkind... I had hard time sleeping during certain nights, but the dark knowledge obtained from the many a quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore made their worth. I would hazard a gamble that I knew more about dark arts than any other first year students within Hogwarts... letting a young, curious scholar run around amok within a household filled with grim objects. What were they thinking?  
In addition to the black arcane, I had found various books that matched the list of required textbooks for the first year at Hogwarts. One that caught my attention in particular was the old copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_, which contained copious amount of tips and notes informing the reader of much better method of preparing and brewing potions. Intrigued, I substituted the old book for the school supplies, intent upon trying out the informal method.

The trip itself to the 9 and 3 quarters was eventful, to say the least. Imagine your typical English bus. Now, make it blacker. And then, give it a personification of a drunkard on cocaine. And, while you are at it, set its hair on fire. That was the Knight Bus. Not a moment of tranquility or peace was given to its passengers in order to gain its speed. The drivers themselves were more scatterbrained if possible. A shrunken ball resembling a head that looked like it was taken out from the pickling jar of a coven witch hung near the driver seat, babbling unintelligible languages in its meaningless conversations. There was a lady that posed danger to everyone else within her meter radius around of being puked upon.

All in all, a life experience. I was glad for the lessons I gained through it, but I hoped never to encounter that bus within the future.

* * *

September 1st, 1991.

New Jersey did not have a lot of trains, so I was a bit excited about the prospect of being transported to a castle within it. As for the compartments themselves, I had within my mind developed a top notch method of locating the compartment with most beneficial connections as possible. Even as of now I hesitate to write the trade secret method upon this very protected parchment, but knowledge not passed down to future generations is considered to be wasted in my book.

...

"One spot, two spot, zig, zag, tear. Pop-die, pennygot, tennyum, tear. Harum, scare 'em, rip 'em, tear 'em, tay, taw, toe..."

Gathering more attention from bystanders in each passing second I began to point my fingers back and forth furiously, trying to pick the best compartment possible. Upon the door of the chosen room I opened with such speed that it startled the two unfortunate students located within. With perfect calm I placed my bag within the space above the seats, sat down, and opened up my favorite volume of grimoire: Necronomicon.

Brief silence followed as the other two occupants carefully studied me, while I studied them. One with wild red hair, the other with black messy mop with glasses.

"Yo. I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I chose this compartment at random, you see. My name is Jack Black. What's yours?"

"...Harry Potter."

"Ron Weasley."

"Nice to meet you. Now." I clasped my hands together. "I'm excited to go to Hogwarts. How about you?"

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded. "We are pretty excited. Magic and all."

"Good, good... Ron, do you have brothers?"

"Yes?" he replied, confused by my sudden curiosity. "I have several."

"Two of them are twins, right?"

"Yeah, their names are Fred and George. Why do you ask?"

"Just a hunch. They are troublemakers, right? Does pranks."

"Definitely. Drives me mum mad all the time."

"Perfect. Now, if you'll 'scuse me... save me this spot, would you?" standing up, I grabbed my bag and made my way out to the hall. If they were troublemakers, than I had a deal they would not be able to refuse.  
It took a great while to find the correct compartment; they were within the middle of the train. Sliding it open I nonchalantly entered, my bag within my hand.

"Hello," I spoke toward the surprised occupants. "You are Fred and George, I assume." I nodded toward the two with fiery red hair.

"Yes-"

"-We are." They responded.

"My name is Black- Jack Black. And, I have an interesting offer for you. May I sit down?"

Sitting next to the African-British student, I reached my hand inside the bag and pulled out a small brown bag.

"Griffin Liver. Class B Non-Tradeable Substance. Can only be acquired with proper connections within Knockturn Alley, or if your house is filled with particularly dangerous objects. An important ingredient for certain potions with annoying side effects... pranks, for instance." I gave a Cheshire grin. "I am willing to make a trade. Care to hear the details?"

Interested at my proposition the two exchanged glances, and one of them spoke up.

"Sure. What do you want from it?"

"...Apprenticeship." leaning back, I placed my hands behind my head. "I intend to create an interesting prank that will most certainly startle the students during morning breakfast few days after I arrive to Hogwarts. For that, I will require some information from those more experienced, like yourselves."

"A prank to kick off a new year?" one of the twins spoke up.

"Sounds great." the other one grinned. "Let's hear it."

* * *

AN: So, uh, Hi.

I guess this is my third try. I attempted once on 2011, and another on 2013. Now I am trying once more on 2015. If you actually read previous iterations of Jack Black fanfics, you would know what I am talking about. If not, you are better off not knowing... I just hope you enjoyed this chapter.

This is my first try in writing in first person point of view, as I thought it would change the perspective and the pace dramatically. The ideas rolling around within my head compelled me to write about Jack in the past, and it still does so now... never underestimate your inspiration.

Please review.


	2. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 2

Spetember 3rd, 1991.

Owls flooding into the Great Hall was of the norm each morning. However, one eye catching aspect of that particular breakfast was that each individual bird had colors painted onto them. Technicolor strigiformes, in other words. Students stopped eating and stared in wonder at their own pets, wondering about this unexpected change.

I flashed a brief thumbs up toward the direction of grinning twins, and received one in return.

"Who did this?" Harry wondered, his voice barely heard over the commotion within the Great Hall.

"I did." I quietly sipped on my juice as I inspected my own creative work. "Muggle paints. I partly received my help from Ron's brothers, as this is my first prank... it took me all afternoon yesterday, but worth it, no?

"Well, Syltherins are looking pretty angry at the bright red colors of their owls." Ron peeked over toward their direction.

"That was no mistake."

"People will think my brothers did it, though." Ron pointed out.

"My work will speak for itself... besides, they won't take credit for what I did. I was initially under the impression that painting a group of birds would have been easy. Apparently, owls don't like it when a stranger gives them a free makeover. Go figure. But, I have done it... and, I have reaped my reward."

I suppose I should pick up where I left off; the sorting itself I will not go into too much detail with. Besides, Harry would have that covered on his own private journal. All you needed to know was that I was _this_ close into going into Hufflepuff instead of Griffindor- not that there is anything wrong with Hufflepuffs, no siree.  
The following conversation took place before the sorting:

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait," I interrupted Professor McGonagall's speech about house sorting with my raised hand. "Why is the Ravenclaw symbol an eagle?"

"Well, what other animal should it be, Mr. Black?"

"Oh, I don't know, a Raven?"

The classes themselves have interested me to an extent... I had curiosity in Charms, as the famous wizard Merlin was known as the Prince of Charms. History of Magic quite unfortunately placed many students including myself to sleep due to boredom, the most responsible culprit being the very teacher who taught the class. However, learning history was important, and I was determined to find a way to take notes while somehow managing to sleep at the same time.  
Transfiguration was a branch magic of inherently changing the initial composition and form of an object... this went against everything I had learned about the laws of thermodynamics, and I was determined to grasp the rules behind them clearly.

"Now, match," I whispered toward the inanimate object as I grasped the wand within my hand. "We can do this the easy way... or the highway. You can turn into a needle when I wave my wand, or if you don't and stay the way you are, I'll turn you alight faster than you can protest. A dangerous man does not need friction to make fire."

Of course, the said matchstick did not comply. So I carried out my threat, and was subsequently scolded by Professor McGonagall.

Within Herbology I had natural interest within the genes of plants that devoured meat of the animals. I was awed by the members of the kingdom plantae that fed upon the flesh of the organisms of the kingdom animalia. Previously I had my eye on Defense Against the Dark Arts, as I was keen on how they developed ways against the hideous and fear-inducing spells introduced within the dark tomes within my household, but I am sorry to say I was disappointed. The very professor of the class himself looked like he would collapse from fear of the subject itself at any moment.

Now, the Potions class... my previous fascination with them was hyped up further more by the epic speech Professor Snape had given us. Bottling fame, brewing glory, and stoppering death sounded like my jam. However, I do remember distinctly that his lips curled to the sneer of contempt and hatred (more so than usual) when he had reached my name within the attendance list.

On our very first morning of school (September 2nd) I was determined to find out the purpose of banning entrance into the third floor corridor on the right hand side. And, knowing that my friends would not comply, I had 'accidentally' lead them to the floor in question.

"Jack, I'm pretty sure this is not the way."

"Nonsense." I looked way too cheerful for someone heading toward the classroom. "Classroom E2 is located on the Charms Corridor, on the third floor. We are on the third floor."

"But that schedule was from last year." Ron pointed out.

"And how exactly does that matter?" I replied.

"The schedule could have changed."

"I'm willing to take that risk." Walking up to an entrance to a corridor, I pulled with great difficulty.

"Zounds! It's locked." Taking a step back, I contemplated for a way into the corridor.

"Why would it be locked?" Harry frowned. "It makes no sense. No one is going to lock a way to a classroom."

"No matter, we have to get through." I grabbed the handle. "Let's pull together in one... two... three!"

All three of us heaved together – it was futile. The door remained stubborn, snapped shut.

"...Right, if we can't open the door, we'll smash it open." standing back, I grabbed my wand, pointing it toward the door.

"-Um, not sure if that's a good idea-" Ron spoke up, but it was too late.

"_DIFFINDO!_"

Nothing happened, naturally.

"_DIFFINDO! DIFFINDO!_"

Upon the third try, small, albeit deep cracks ran along the surface.

"Right, I guess it is a too high level of a spell..." stowing my wand away, I began to think of other way to open the door.

"...We'll have to kick it open."

"We are NOT destroying a school property on our first day of school!" Harry argued furiously. "We'll just have to ask someone else-"

He was interrupted by the presence of a cat right behind us. Slinking around our legs it purred, its eyes just as yellow as mine staring at us in an oddly insolent way.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty-" I reached down to pet the creature, but stumps of footsteps interrupted me.

"Attempting to sneak into the forbidden corridor, eh? Thought you could get past the magical locks?" huffing and blowing, a large man with less than pleasant countenance ran up toward us.

"Ah, this is the forbidden corridor? I had no idea!" I replied brightly, attempting to get out of our trouble. "Would you like to assist us in getting to our classes, sir?"

"You don't fool me!" jabbing his finger toward me, he scooped up his cat into his arms. "I ought to have you three locked up in dungeons for trespassing-"

"N-n-now, Mr. Filch..." a nervous voice interrupted his ranting as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stepped into the corridor. "I'm s-sure Mr. Potter and his f-f-friends have simply lost in t-their way to t-their classroom. A-after all, it's only the first d-day."

WE'RE SAVED.

Smiling brightly at Mr. Filch, I dragged my two friends away from the scene of the crime before he could change his mind. Right after we were out of sight both of my friends glowered at me.

"Jack..."

"You must believe me on this. I had no idea that we were at the front of the forbidden corridor." I nonchalantly responded, and, of course, both of them didn't believe me.

* * *

September 6th, 1991.

It seemed as though our Potions Professor had no love for our dear Harry. The moment the man's dark, gloomy eyes landed upon my friend's visage, his expression turned, forming into a peculiar expression, displaying abnormal emotions: one that had mixture of sadness, anger, happiness, anger, remorse, anger, interest, anger, bitterness, anger... did I mention anger?  
Now, I have no idea why Harry's mere face made such a remarkable change upon the man. All I remember is that he picked upon Harry to ask very specific questions, and docked several points for the clever comment Harry made. He also seemed to dislike Gryffindors in general. So within that subject we were all at severe disadvantage.  
However, hardship produces efficiency and ingenuity. I was determined to use the underrating view of our potions professor in order to perfect my potion creating techniques. The key toward success was to create advantages from the disadvantages...  
However, my tomfoolery had caught up with me at this point.

"What is this, Mr. Black? Are you so illiterate and blind that you cannot tell Bronze apart from Pewter?"

Welp. He had a good point; I went against the supply list and had bought Bronze Cauldron instead of Pewter. However, I had a good counterpoint prepared beforehand.

"Well, sir, I had read that Copper quickens the production of potions substantially. I had decided that Bronze was a better investment."

"You are laboring under the assumption that you yourself know better than the professors who carefully organized the supply list. A point from Gryffindor."

In the hindsight, he was letting it go lightly.

"You will each form a group of pairs with someone sitting to the right of you in order to create a potion of Cure for Boils. Follow the instruction written upon the page 10."

To my friends' horror, I was paired up with Hermione. (They had animosity toward each other at the time.) Looks of sympathy were thrown toward my face of indifference. As long as I was able to brew without trouble, I was willing to work with anyone.

"The book tells you to heat up the mixture to 250 degrees for 10 seconds, not 150 degrees for 20 seconds!" Hermione whispered furiously as I took over the control of the potion, apathetic to her concerns.

"Call it a hunch." I muttered back as I waved my wand over the cauldron. "I have long bloodline of wizards before me in my family. It would be wiser to follow my instincts, wouldn't it?"

Of course, actual instincts took no part within my irregular judgment. I was just actually following the scribbles written over the instructions within my used copy of the book. But no one needed to know this fact.  
After Neville melted his cauldron due to poor execution (I partly admired his ability to create poison out of cures... I made myself a mental note to try to purposefully ignore instructions in another time to see what I come up with), and after our time was up, the Professor went over each potion, taking a sweep of look at their draughts.  
And, surprisingly, our potion was shades pinker than other potions, showing our success to some extent. And, awhile after Professor Snape gazed at our cauldron intently, he spoke up.

"Miss Granger, please hand over your copy of the textbook."

Silence hung over the classroom as every student intently looked over at our direction. After looking briefly at the pages, he turned toward me.

"Mr. Black, please hand over your copy."

And, like I was told, I handed him over my copy. And, finding no fault, he handed them back, and after one more piercing gaze toward myself, he moved on.

Of course, my used copy of the textbook was still within my bag, safe and sound. He had merely taken a look at the new copy I had brought in for subterfuge.

"You just had to NOT follow the direction and get us both into trouble!" she screeched silently.

"My dear woman," I started with impatience. "If you would notice, we were both only scrutinized, not punished."

* * *

"That was... quite an experience." I dryly commented as we made ourselves home upon some of the pastries on the table.

It was lunchtime, and my other two friends were sitting alongside with me, gloomily poking their toast.

"I'll admit, Harry, I don't think I've seen any teacher visibly displaying their displeasure upon a particular student at their first class. But enough of that talk... apparently you did something famous upon your birth to attract attention from other teachers. Now, according to the students, you stopped a Dark Lord when you were a baby?"

"...Yeah, something like that." he seemed to be not in the mood for talking. Well, no matter. His mere confirmation is enough.

"If it makes you feel better, I took no particular notice of your scar when we first met. I was under the impression that you banged your head against a kitchen sink... Ron, what class do we have next? I can't even take a look at our swirly timetable without getting a vertigo." I took a sip from the nearby goblet.

"Herbology, I think."

"Herbology, that reminds me..." standing up, I took my bag filled with concealed objects; going around to each house table I began to make some sort of trade with the students, all the while being observed by bemused glances of my dear friends.

"...What was that?" Harry took a curious glance at my bag.

"Oh, I was selling Coke. Three sickles per quantity." sitting down leisurely I began to count my net worth. "People seem to be enjoying them."

"...Coke?" Ron looked bewildered.

"Don't worry about it. And no, I am not offering it to my friends. They are addicting. Not good for you." I resumed on my danish. "So Harry, what job does your Uncle have?"

"Um, he goes to work on companies that manufactures drills, I think."

"Boring. Ron, what job does your dad have?"

"He always talks about his work in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Something about taking care of muggles that got caught up with magical accidents.

"Now, see, that's more interesting. Imagine your modern plane, and now, enchant it with every kind of air lifting spell you can think of. Your dad makes sure that doesn't happen. Nice. Right, men," I rose from my seat after having shoved the last meatball in my mouth. "Off we march."

Henceforth, my first time meeting Hagrid; my fond friend and teacher. His accent, his mannerism, and his personality fused together to great this wonderful BFG. This pure hearted man holds my utmost admiration.

"Procyon!" He greeted me in an affable and gregarious way upon our introduction. "Boy, do yeh and Harry bring back good memories... I remember back in the day when I had ter ward the Forbidden Forest off from James an' Sirius... but, yeh resemble Regulus more..."

"You knew my father?" I perked up with interest.

"Well, I didn' know Regulus as well as yer Uncle..."

And, as I would learn later on, both my father and my uncle had not so great reputation. Both of them were the followers of this Dark Lord Voldemort, the same one that Harry stopped when he was young, as I would also learn later on. It was a sore topic, regrettably; I was determined to clear my family's noble name and restore it to its former glory with my creative mind that held a touch of madness.


	3. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 3

September 10th, 1991.

It appeared as though Malfoy was spewing enough rubbish from his mouth to make a garbage can jealous; if I had to hear one more second of him butchering the ways muggle technology actually worked, then I would have had to leave the room.

"It is quite ridiculous that they do not allow first years to be within the Quidditch team." Malfoy declared loudly within breakfast at Great Hall. "Of course, my father would be able to supply adequate equipment for the entire team, if necessary... and, I happen to have experience of flying since I was young."

His two cronies, along with most of the Slytherin first years clung onto his every word.

"There I was," Malfoy pointed toward the sky, rest of the first years following with their eyes. "Clutching my Comet 260, chasing the group of muggle robbers escaping by their muggle car. Panicked by an unidentified flyer chasing at them from a _broom_, excuse you, they sped up, determined to get away from me at all costs. Well, that won't do. Flying right behind the wheel of the car I shoved my broom forward, puncturing the rear tire of the car front of me... BOOM!" he made a wild gesture with his hands, startling his listeners. "The car goes out of control! I shifted back, attempting to escape from the eminent crash, but one of the opens up the windows and points his gun toward me!" Cue more gasps from the table. "Gun is a muggle metal wand thingy, by the way. The villains within the vehicle shoots the gun wildly toward my direction! I had to perform several barrel rolls just to dodge them! Than, realizing my chances of escaping with my broom was low, I quickly rose up, and sure enough, there was a helicopter up in the sky, waiting for my orders. Grabbing the rope tossed from the flying machine I fixed it onto my robe, and I was carried to my safety." a fond look covered his face as he gazed toward the sky. The first years around him gaped with admiration.

"There are so many flaws within that story to the point where I don't know where to begin with," I interrupted while standing up from my table, receiving the attention of some Great Hall breakfasters. "Lets see here, you said you caught up to a muggle car on highway on your Comet 260. I find that hard to believe; its top speed ranges around 50 miles per hour, while highway speed limit is around 70. On that note, a group of robbers wouldn't stick to highway speed limit at any rate; common muggle cars are capable of going up to 100 miles per hour. You said you punctured the tire of the car with your broom tip; if tires are that easy to puncture, than there wouldn't be any alive drivers at this point. Muggle car tires are not just a rubber balloon inflated; it has multiple protective layers including a central tube. Let's say for the sake of argument that the car's tires were indeed punctured; in that case it would most likely quickly spiral out of control and crash, and not even give enough time for the robbers to aim and shoot a gun - _backwards_, mind you. The only other alternative is the car stopping on its tracks. You said you dodged bullets by using broom maneuvers; if you were close enough to touch the tires of the vehicle, than you were at point blank range, giving you no ways to simply evade them. You said you escaped by a helicopter; if there really was a helicopter within range above you, than you wouldn't be able to fly a broom at all; common muggle helicopters have blades rapidly rotating at above 300 rotations per second. The powerful downdrafts would quickly blow you away like a tornado. All in all, a broom that is able to puncture tough rubber, dodge bullets, go above 100 miles per hour, resist powerful gusts of wind, and all the while protecting the person that is riding it. That, is one *magical* broom."

Tables fell silent as first years quietly absorbed my words. I vaguely heard muffled snickers from the Staff Table. Malfoy stood there, shaking, angered at my thorough dissection and rejection of his story.

"Yeah, well..." he spluttered. "Your stupid!"

"Your face is stupid!" I replied. "Also, it's you're, not your."

"Oh yeah? Well your mum-"

"Gentlemen," a strict voice belonging to Professor McGonagall interrupted our squabble. "You are to talk amongst yourselves _quietly_."

Snarling, we turned away from each other, back to our tables.

"Punk." I whispered, as I high fived Ron back at my table.

"I must say, I don't like how you argued so loudly within the Great Hall, but you have very accurate knowledge of muggle technology." Hermione said. "Do all wizards know so much about muggle inventions?"

"Most don't bother to know about them, as they think magic is superior." I shrugged, finishing my pastry. "Of course, due to his lack of knowledge, Malfoy was not able to properly lie about his story."

* * *

And so, with bravado I entered the potions classroom, fully drinking in the heated glare from Malfoy. Despite the less than pleasant professor within the room, I was albeit excited to learn today's potion.

Until...

"...5 cockroaches clusters to be crushed in the pestal, huh..." I gulped as I warily glanced toward the offending jar in question. "...Um, hey, Harry, can you crush them for me? I can help you with something else."

"...Sure." casting a weirded glance toward me Harry worked on the cockroaches while I sighed in relief.

"Hey Jack," Ron called out. "Can you get the spiders?"

"Ah, well..." I chuckled, scratching the back of my head. "Let's ask Harry to do it. I can do something else."

"What's up with you two?" Harry huffed while handing the insects. "Are you afraid of them or something? It's not like they'll kill you or anything..."

"Afraid of them? Moi? Of course not!" I laughed, appearing nonchalant. "I just prefer shrake spines compared to them, that is all..."

Harry gave me a look that can only be best described as one of complete indifferent skepticism. Skillfully grabbing a cockroach he threw it on my lap.  
And, I immediately began to scream.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! GET IT OFF ME, GET IT OFF!"

Short, fast bursts of movement followed as I desperately gained distance away from the fowl creature. It fell to the floor, unmoving.

"Doggone it Harry!" I screamed at his face. "Don't do that!"

Harry sighed. "I don't believe this."

Humiliation rushed through me as I took a look at the snickering classroom. Seeing the grin on Ron's face, I grabbed the jar filled with spiders (despite its revulsion) and threw it toward Ron.

Needless to say, he had similar reaction. After much screaming and running around, we were both glaring at each other,

"Black, Weasley," spoke out Snape in a bored tone. "Detention. Tonight at 8."

Grumbling, we went back to work, intent upon preventing further occurring of our professor's wrath.

* * *

"See the flaws within our rigid thinking." I began to point out while marching toward the Flying Lesson. "We are able to use magic, and through that method, able to imbue flying charms upon inanimate objects in order to let us touch the sky. What object do we pick? A comfy, easy to lie upon carpet? Perhaps a booster rocket able to be strapped on our backs. If nothing else than maybe even a car. But nooo... we had to pick a hard, stiff, not good looking brooms. See the folly of the man! How do they expect us to ride on the objects meant for witches? The narrow wood pole clashes painfully against my very own-"

"Good afternoon class," a professor interrupted my complaining. "Welcome to your first flying lesson."

And that started our magically journey of flying. Admittedly, it was very exhilarating; the air rushing around you gave off this feeling of thrill and blur. You became an eagle, soaring through the heavens, king of the skies... slowly, I began to contemplate a way to buy my very own racing broom.  
But, I digress. I have not even got to the part where we actually flown as of yet.

"Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end."

"When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...3...2..."

And, even before the whistle tweeted, someone was already high up in the sky.

"Hot dang! Neville's already up the sky faster than the rest of us!" I whistled, watching his rapid ascension, and very soon, his descension.  
This part is well covered by Harry's own journal; he falls, breaks his wrist, and understandably is quite startled by this accident. While Neville was carted off to Hospital Wing, Malfoy and Harry tussle over his descension, yaddy yaddy yadda... Harry is quickly carted off to be scolded, or so it seems.

"Right, well, I am glad to say Longbottom is being healed up at the Hospital Wing." spoke Professor Hooch after she came back from escorting Neville. "Where did Potter go?" she looked around, noticing a student missing in our midst.

"Professor McGanagall called for him for reasons." I promptly replied before anyone else could open their mouths.

"Right then, onto the lesson. On my whistle I want you to hover, not fly. 3...2..."

* * *

The first flying lesson went pretty well, all things considered. Sure, I got into trouble by impersonating Red Baron and shooting sparks from my wand, but it was loads of fun... aerial wizard battles, that was the idea.

"I really don't have any inclination to start on our homework so soon." Ron remarked as we made our way to the library. "Feel like taking a break?"

"I'm not going to library to start on my homework. I am merely fascinated with the idea having access to occult rich resources. Consider these two points: one, we are within an environment where with magic, almost anything is possible. Two, we have access to an area designed to give people knowledge about such magic. In result, the more we consult these books of knowledge, the more powerful we become. Within those dark dusty tomes lies the way to blissful state of complete wisdom, where you hold your reign over many dominions of magic, each capable to making a great marks in history... there is no time to waste."

"Careful there." Ron rolled his eyes. "You are beginning to channel Granger..."

"Don't even get me started on the restricted area," I spoke as I gave a surreptitious look over to the rope covering the said section of the library. "The knowledge laying over there is darker, but richer. Kind of like dark chocolate. You prefer the taste of milk chocolate most of the time, but the dark ones have that bitter sweetness to them."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, so hurry up and pick a book that will actually interest me..." yawning, Ron stretched his arms back. "Where did Harry go anyway?"

"Probably still being scolded by McGonagall. I hope he doesn't get into too much trouble." I scanned the long string of books, attempting to find one of interest.

"Wait, Jack, this is weird. A huge section of books were taken out."

I turned my attention to where Ron pointed, and sure enough, there was an empty space between two stacks of tomes.

"They have no reason to organize it like this." I said while approaching the bookcase. "At the very least, I should join those two stacks together just to make it look nice... eh?"

I attempted to push one string of books to join the other, but the books held firm, refusing to budge.

"Is there an invisible barrier?" my interest piqued, I began to stretch my hand toward the empty space in the middle, until my fingers felt a groove of a book.

"Yo, this feels weird..." I drawled, my American accent kicking in. "Ron, look at this."

Ron and I began to make out a shape of several books with our sense of touch. Instead of being an empty space, it was being occupied by several invisible books.

"The plaque above us says 'Invisibility Section'." Ron noticed.

"Invisibility Section... pity we can't read'em." I shrugged, moving on. "That must be bad of business though. So tantalizing, so teasing... Hmm, this might catch your interest. _History behind Wand Wood and Cores. _Here's something to distract ourselves with."

"I guess... although my wand didn't really chose me. It was passed down from my brother, Charlie. Has a unicorn hair sticking out on the end, unfortunately."

"Well... we'll see if it suits you, according to this book." opening it up and grabbing a comfortable seat, I began to search for the index. "What's the wand wood, Ron?"

"Ash, if I remember right."

"Ash... well, is your birthday between February 18th and March 17th?" I looked over at Ron inquisitively.

"Yeah. March 1st." he nodded.

"Well, not too out of sync, which is fortunate." I began to go down on the list of the characteristics. "By the element, has affinity with Water... a long list about zodiac and planetary association and stuff... has ability for Dark Arts (that doesn't sound good...) and Healing Magic, which sounds oxymoronic... some stuff about Divination, Transfiguration, and Purification... and, unfortunately, it stays tightly loyal to its original wizard, which means bad news for you, my friend."

"Well I didn't expect much." Ron gave a wry grin. "Just my luck, I suppose... look up your wand."

"Let's see, Apple. A wand core without associated dates and zodiacs, interestingly. It has affinity with Water and Earth, the wizards who own them having personality of high aim and ideals, likable, great charm, caring etc. Describes me to a t." I gave a somewhat dry roguish grin. "Not used much with powerful cores, apparently. Some stuff about Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, and apparently ability to communicate with animals. That sounds useful... hmm, some stuff about how attaching some gems boost the magical powers. That's interesting; if gemstones have ability to boost your skills, than that means they contain innate magic within them, similar to wood. Why can't they fashion a wand out of gemstone?"

"No idea. Too heavy to use, maybe?"

"Maybe. It just might be a revolutionary idea, tho... right, onto wand cores. Unicorn hair, unicorn hair... here it is. Innocent, pure, long list of similar synonyms, consistent magic, aversion to Dark Arts, subtle, good with Charms and Transfiguration, good with healing, prefers owners with gentle personalities... so I guess that describes your brother."

"Charlie is cool, so I guess so."

"Alright, Kelpie hair... bold, proud, loyal, wise, cynical, etc... a rare wand core as it is thought to be temperamental and substantial. Good at transfiguration, but the book mentions rare and spectacular backfires with it. Well, clashes a bit with my wand wood, so I am interested as to how that will work out." Taking our my wand, I began to take a good look at it. Ron did likewise, fiddling with the unicorn hair sticking out on the top.


	4. Myself and the Hackneyed Macguffin Ch 4

It's been 10 months already, I see... I put this off long enough.

* * *

September 21st, 1991.

One nugget of good news we received was that Harry was rewarded, not punished, for his actions. This was a cause for a celebration; it was not everyday a shenanigan actually resulted in good reward.  
The detention I served with Ron, however, proved most gruesome and foul. Green, glistening and flowing substance with an odor somehow revolting and ensnaring at the same time dripped from the cauldron big enough to fit my entire body within. Working from the inside I worked to scrub off the mysterious substance with a rag and a bucket of water. It was not the only pot I had to work upon; numerous more stained with various potions were strewn around within the darkened room as Ron and I furiously worked into the hours of the evening. The great amounts of food and dessert consumed in our dinner helped to sustain our efforts. Even while cleaning I launched into a theoretical discussion, letting my voice become one with the background.

"One of the assumptions I had made when I was introduced to this world of magic was that through the use of sorcery man can violate the laws of thermodynamics." My voice was amplified by the cauldron I was contained within. "However, the resources I have spent time pouring through gave no such evidence toward that conclusion. In fact, I am more leaning toward the idea that even the very magic itself has laws that govern them, preventing them from breaking reality. An equivalent exchange, if you will."

"Laws of thermodynamics? What's that? Never heard of 'em." Ron replied, his attention partly on his own cauldron.

"It's, uh, muggle scientific term. Over the centuries those without magic have relied upon science in order to explain the world around them. I don't really remember all the details about the laws of thermodynamics myself, since they didn't teach those in elementary schools and I took it upon myself to learn them through books. Basically, energy and matter cannot be created or destroyed, but can only be changed. Take water, for instance. Once you drink it, it comes back our from your body in one way or the other... there is a chance that the very water Merlin drank eons ago were contained within our goblets at our dinner."

Ron paused, sticking his head out of his own cauldron. "Blimey, that's insane."

"I know, right?" Grinning, I continued on. "So, in result, where do magic come from? Where does all that force and energy generate from? It has to come from somewhere, somehow. It can't just come from nothing... did your parents say anything about the fundamental theory of magic?"

"I don't think they ever discussed that with us."

"Well, I'd imagine it to be a mysterious subject - I have read that Merlin is said to have been a Cambian, meaning, he was born from a demonic intervention, which implies that he drew his powers from the demons. There must be a source of supernatural origins of which we receive our powers from... But where? And how? Magic can't just come from nothing."

"Why not? Wouldn't it be more fun to imagine magic that way?" Ron said.

"If you want, sure. But I want answers... solutions, satisfying conclusions. I want to find the source of the very unadulterated magic itself and twist it to my will." my chuckles began to ring out within the dungeon deeply and darkly, until Snape came in and threatened to give me another detention.

* * *

November 8th, 1991.

It had been a hectic month. Quidditch matches were won, monsters were discovered, friendships were made, and et cetera. All those events I'm sure are detailed well within Harry's own recollection of events.

"Jack! Jack!" Panting, Harry ran up into the Common Room, clearly bursting to say something. "I went to see Professor Snape to ask if I can have my book back, but when I peered inside the staffroom after receiving no response to my knocking I saw Filch and Snape in there, alone-"

"-Okay?"

"And Snape was holding his robe above his knees-"

"-Whoa, whoa, whoa, WHOA!" I yelled as I raised my hands. "I have no idea what you saw in that room Harry, but I will not let my pure, innocent mind be corrupted by what you came across-"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Harry broke me off, becoming impatient. "One of his leg was all bloody and injured because he was trying to get through the three-headed dog!"

"...Oh. Carry on."

And immediately after Harry's retelling of his traumatic, horrifying experience of seeing Snape's legs, my other two companions launched into a heated debate as to whether Snape was actually attempting to obtain whatever that beast was guarding. I had seen the dog itself, and I would rather not have had to do with anything related to approaching near that monster.  
As to where Snape's true loyalty lay... I admit, I was inclined to believe him to be a secretive traitor, but I highly doubted that Dumbledore did not have his ultimate control over what went on within this school. I was under the impression that not even a dust mite could get past without him knowing.  
And as to what exactly was a secret worth guarding so much, I had my interests, but I had initially assumed that whatever it was, that it would have some sort of drawback that would make it less enticing to myself. Hence, I gave it the name "Macguffin"- everybody chased to obtain it, but few knew the reason to do so.  
Now that I think back to it, I still remember that first Quidditch game Harry had (he would have written it meticulously down on his own journal, so I won't go through the trouble of recounting the events). Suspicions against Snape had risen furthermore due to that event. I privately thought that Snape would have been too intelligent to try to curse Harry right out in the open, but I was more concerned about the well being of my friend to think further into it. Also, the information we had received from Hagrid after the match had greatly increased my interests.  
Nicholas Flamel (another name I had never heard of before) was a famed wizard for doing something amazing that we did not know at the time. The troubling thing was, we could not find any information regarding this mysterious man. Was he a saint? Was he a criminal? Was he a thaumaturgist? There were too many questions without answers.

* * *

December 27th, 1991.

I had discovered something rather disturbing this morning.

Oh, the Christmas itself was not that terrible. Not that I received a lot of presents, but having three close friends was enough to keep me satisfied. The food was fantastic, nothing to complain about; the event that troubled me was something that happened much later on. I'm sure Harry will write down well about how he received his Invisibility Cloak. Using that, on the 25th, he had discovered something rather interesting. The night after, he and Ron decided to return to this magical object for further inspection (the cloak was not big enough to cover three of us). I initially had no interest as to what it exactly was, so I let Ron have the opportunity to take a look.  
Harry's hollow expressions and movements after that night were what caught my interest - I cared for his health, and what he had seen for two nights in a row - whatever it was - affected him deeply. At the crack of dawn I ventured into the room described by Ron, and saw a mirror, and a large one indeed.

After some hesitation I stepped on front of it.

* * *

_Dawn light began to simmer on the horizon as the room grew gradually brighter by each passing minute. On front of the mirror he stood, gazing into it. An expression - a peculiar expression - was etched onto his face; a mixture of anger, surprise, disappointment, allure, expectations, and much more, all rolled into one. Rooted to the spot, there he froze, unable to look away._

* * *

I saw my desires, and I was terrified of it. My counterpart within the mirror was content with destruction and ruin that he left in his wake - I was not. My counterpart within the mirror strove to pay each and everyone that he encountered back exactly what he felt they deserved - I did not. My counterpart within the mirror had power and speed and strength to take out giants and to wrestle with beasts - I had not.  
Was this what I would become? My anger within me had outputted thrice their power within my mirror counterpart. I saw the evil I was capable of, and, even worse, I wished for it.  
I still do not remember how I returned to my dorm, escaping detection. I should not have gone and seen that mirror, but one thing I was determined not to do in life was to regret.

* * *

May 27th, 1991.

I realize that my entries have been very sparse, from the beginning - it is indeed a bad habit of mine. Although I was determined to write down sets of events in a prompt way, I find myself rather keen on letting Harry do all the meticulous record-keeping and for me to focus on storing my private thoughts on this journal. Do remember that this is the second edition of my diaries - I help my memory with brief, succinct accounts of the first edition of notes I had written down from when each and every event occurred. Hopefully this will explain my rather mature writing style filled with "big words", so to speak.

Long story short, we had discovered who Nicholas Flamel exactly was (turns out he was this rather famous alchemist), and we had to deal with a particularly troublesome drake with a massively ill temper. One good thing that came out from that event was that I was able to obtain dragon egg shells, a Class A Non-Tradeable Material. As I had particular interests in potion making, this was a great find. I admit, I obtained Hagrid's permission when he was too busy being enamored over his little dragon, and it bore little guilt within my conscience.  
But the worst was yet to come - in our efforts to send this dragon to a safer place we were caught, and Gryffindor was deducted hundreds of points for our actions. My other three friends became very morose after they were ostracized by other students.

Poor saps. Look at 'em. Hermione barely raised her head, let alone her hand during lessons.

Then, there was the detention itself, which was a special occasion of its own. Consider for a moment, sending 5 students into a dark forest filled with unholy creatures and other unmentionable dangers, with only a faculty member and a cowardly dog for protection. Something seriously was wrong with how this castle operated. But enough of that; I wished to focus my attention on the corpses of Unicorns that were strewn sparsely along the forest area.  
It was very sad sight indeed, to see their proud legs mangled, their lustrous manes ruffled, their muscular body twisted by a huge, gaping wounds. While I do admit nicking some of their hair (they were worth 10 galleons a piece, I could not resist), it was an important potions ingredient. The ends justified the means, as I favorably said.  
But there was another issue that took most of our attention - someone, some creature had drunk the blood of the Unicorns in order to gain additional time. This, obviously, was a great cause for concern.

Someone please remind me why a group of first years was tasked to track down a creature desperate enough to resort to Unicorn blood. These series of events did not bode well for the future.


End file.
